Wolfborn
by ange1christine
Summary: After twenty five years of peace, the Snow children longed for something different. War. Blood. Love. Adventure. The taste of a new wind on a twisting sea. Together, they will find the purpose behind what it means to be truly wolfborn.
1. Chapter 1

**Ask, and you shall receive.**  
**Lets get to know our new characters! CH2 coming veeery soon ;)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Even in the spring, it was cold.

She pulled her fur cloak around her shoulders, shivering only a bit. The sun had begun to rise over the Wolf's Wood, dark gray of the morning streaked with pink and yellow. The wind caressed her face, her white hair dancing in the breeze. It was a gentle sort of cold; the taste of snow was long gone from the air. The castle had begun to stir, and she knew that the inhabitants would awaken to disturb her soon. She liked it up here on the battlements; her father had brought her there with him daily as a child, to watch the sun set. Her brother never joined them; this was their place.

"Good morning, Rose."

She jumped, her blood turning to ice. It was her father, of course, lean and bright eyed. Gray streaked his black hair as it curled gently behind his head, where he had tied it back.

"Hello, father," she said, leaning into him as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Usually it's me that's alone up here to watch the sun rise," he said, his dark eyes scanning the horizon, "but you'd beat me here today."

Rose shrugged. She had been too excited to sleep, but she was loathe to admit it.

"I was watching for aunt Arya," she replied, and her father turned to look at her.

She had all of her mother's features; the high cheek bones, gentle sloping nose. But the eyes that reflected back at him were his, only darker; black as pitch and shining with excitement. Jon Snow brushed a strand of white hair from his daughter's eyes.

"And have you seen her?" He asked, knowing the answer almost before he asked it.

"No," Rose said, her voice colored with disappointment, "I never do. She always just...appears."

At that, Jon laughed. "Aye, she's been known to do that."

They stood for a few more moments in silence, as the sun appeared over the horizon. The horses whinnied for their breakfast, heifers mooing in the fields behind the keep. Jon watched his daughter thoughtfully.

Rose had been much easier for Enrin to carry. She was gentler on her mother than Ned had been, and Jon loathed to admit that he loved her for it. She had decided, however, to make her appearance early; in the middle of a dinner in the Great Hall, no less. Jon had carried Enrin to the birthing bed himself, and they'd scarcely made it before Rose was fighting her way out of her mother's body. Enrin had been a true queen in that moment, gritting her teeth and bearing the pain, but the fear had shown in her eyes. Their daughter was several weeks early, and small babies were that much harder to keep alive.

In the end, it had been Jon that delivered his daughter into the world, red faced and strong. She was not peaceful, like her brother. Rose wailed so loudly that her parents were sure the entire North could hear her. Jon remembered touching the smattering of white hair on her head; his children bore the burden of his true heritage. That frightened him more than anything.

"Roselyn," Enrin had murmured, remembering the Winter Rose bush that Ned had found, on a day that felt so far away.

Ned had taken to her immediately. He had only just seen his fifth name day at the time, and yet he was convinced that Rose was his baby, and had a hand in raising her as much as the rest of the family had.

Try as she might, Sansa could not groom Rose into the perfect little lady she'd always dreamed of. Sansa had refused to marry, no matter how many eligible suitors fought for her hand. She'd never had children of her own; instead she helped with raising Jon's.

But it was Ned, most of all, Jon remembered. It was Ned who had woken first when Rose cried; Ned who had gifted her with her first dagger. Ned had taught her to ride a horse, to swing a sword, to stand up for herself when the other little lordling boys taunted her for being a girl. It was Ned, too, that had been the first to laugh when Rose had knocked them all into the dirt. Ned was Rose's first protector, and for that, Jon could not have been more thankful.

He understood now why his daughter waited on the battlements for her aunt with a sad trepidation.

"I know you don't want him to go," Jon said, his voice gentle, and Rose quickly looked away. Her dark eyes had once again filled with tears, something she did not want her father to see. Her father and mother had never asked much of her; just to be strong. She did not want to fail them now.

"I just…" she began, and then swallowed thickly, "I just want to see aunt Arya before she disappears again."

It had been two weeks since Daenerys had asked to host Ned for the remainder of the spring. Jon had thought to escort him to King's Landing himself, but the messenger from Braavos had arrived not even a day later. Arya was stopping through Winterfell on her way to the capital, on her way to visit Gendry. Jon and Enrin would not need to ask, they knew Arya would be happy to have Ned with her on her travels, if only for a few weeks. It was cemented then; Ned would go to stay with their parent's oldest friend, and Rose would stay here, at Winterfell.

Jon and Enrin knew the true reason for Daenerys' request; twenty years ago, just after Ned's fifth Name Day, she'd written them to share the news of the birth of her daughter, Princess Rhaella. For twenty years Daenerys requested that they tie their houses together, binding their son to her daughter through marriage. She was refused each time. They would be allowed to choose themselves, when the time came, and the King and Queen in the North knew that it was near.

The thought of Ned becoming King in the North after him was something that had kept him up most nights. It was out of custom for a King to step down, to allow heir to succeed him before his death; but Jon was tired, his children were grown, and he had never asked to be King.

Enrin had forbade Jon from doing it, not until Ned had married. His reign would be in question until he was able to provide an heir, they both knew that. Jon also knew that without Enrin by his side to rule with him, he would have been dead a long time ago.

Rose leaned into her father's side as he wrapped his cloak around them both, and she pressed her head into the crook of his neck. She sighed, contented. They spent many nights up on the battlements, just like this; both wrapped in Jon's cloak, watching the sun set.

This time, it rose, spreading pink and purple across the inky blackness of the sky. The sun chased away the darkness and soon, the world was bright again. She heard the wolves singing their songs in the forest, and her heart longed to join them. She wanted to run into the forest and live there forever, among the pack, never having to deal with the pain of human things.

"Your mother will be looking for us," her father said after a long while, and Rose only nodded. They went down the battlements together, shoulder to shoulder, the silence comforting.

When they entered the open, both father and daughter looked up immediately. Loping across the yard to them were two white wolves; one was larger with golden eyes, like melted honey. Ghost wound around Jon's middle, resting his head on his master's shoulder. Ghost was old now, the long reigning king. He and Night were content now to spend more time indoors, at the keep, sleeping at the feet of the King and Queen. Their children ran the forests now, their grandchildren after them, the Dire Wolf population bolstered after the last twenty years, each generation larger than the last.

"Shouldn't you be out hunting?" Jon asked the golden eyed wolf, who looked on the King calmly.

"You leave Silver out of it," Rose said, wrapping her arms around the wolf's neck. Silver hummed affectionately. Ghost had taken Silver under his wing has of late, running and hunting with him alone. Jon couldn't help but wonder if Ghost, too, was grooming his final son to take over ruling for him as well.

They entered the keep together, the wolves behind them. As they came into the Great Hall, Night looked up from her place at the hearth, her graying ears swiveling toward them.

Enrin was there, the light of the fire behind them making a halo around her dark hair. She smiled at them, wrapping her arms around her husband's waist as he and Rose strode up to meet her. She was just as beautiful as the day she had first entered that Great Hall so many years ago, Jon thought as he placed a kiss on her lips.

Rose had never seen two people more in love than her parents. Even now as they sat at the long table to break their fast together, their bodies were in sync.

Her mother wore a dress of crushed red velvet, the squared neckline plunging just below her collarbones. Rose saw the edge of the thick pink scar poking up over the fabric. She knew the stories well; her mother had died for her father, just like Jon had given his life for their people. Rose could not help but hope that one day someone loved her that much.

Silver raised his head, a welcoming rumble leaving his panting lips. Another wolf had entered the Great Hall, his sister, a hulking she-wolf with shaggy gray fur. She flopped down next to her brother, resting her head against Rose's boots under the table. She didn't have to look, she knew who followed.

Her brother came into the keep then, his black hair windswept across his forehead. His purple eyes found her immediately, and he grinned, their own joke. They both knew that Ned was always late, always last, and before an excuse could form on his lips, their mother held up her hand.

"I don't want to hear it, Eddard," Enrin said, kicking out his chair across from her, "sit down and eat."

Ned plopped down on the bench across from them, plucking a sausage from Rose's plate and popping it in his mouth. His father grinned, shaking his head.

"Where have you been?" Jon asked, eyeing his son's tousled hair. His own grin reflected back at him from Ned's face.  
"Banshee and I were out in the forest, hunting rabbits."

At the sound of her name, Ned's wolf lifted her head. He took another sausage from the tray on the table, offering it to her.

"I told you that next time you decide to run off in the middle of the night, leave a scroll," Enrin's voice was stern, but mirth danced behind her eyes. She was enraptured by his face, as she had been the moment he'd left her body. She recalled the days of his boyhood, when she'd begged that Jon let him stay a child a while longer. Often it seemed that Ned had never left those days behind. He was mischevious, a trickster. He was rarely serious, the first to laugh and boast. Moreso than that, he was kind. He was smart, quick witted, and just as good as his father with a sword. She saw in him all of the things that she loved about her husband, and much more. It was when her eyes traveled to her daughter that her heart constricted.

Where Ned was loud and boisterous, Roselyn Snow was quiet and contemplative. Her dark eyes were always watching, her keen ears always listening to the whispers of the castle. She was calm and rational, with a sharp mind and an even sharper bow arm. Yes, Enrin thought, as she laid her eyes on both of her children as she laid her eyes on both of her children, she and Jon had done quite the job.

It made Enrin sad now, to see the pain dancing behind her children's eyes as they glanced at each other across the table.

Since the moment Roselyn had been born, she and Ned had been inseparable. They were so close that it seemed sometimes, they need not even speak; Enrin was sure that they had entire conversations with only their eyes. There was a tension at the table, a cold apprehension that breathed down their necks. Enrin shook her head.

"Your aunt Arya should arrive today," their mother said, sipping hot wine from her cup. Ned seemed to shake himself, his amethyst eyes clearing from the mist that had covered them.

"I wonder where she's been this time," he remarked. Ned loved to hear his aunt's stories. Once every three years or so she passed through Winterfell, stopping to visit her family on her great trek to visit Gendry in the capital. Their father had asked him to stay on at the keep after the Great War, but the dark haired man had refused him. It was too cold here, he said, and Winterfell already had a blacksmith. If he stayed, Gendry knew that his days would be spent watching wistfully the horizon, awaiting Arya's return.

When the children had been quite young, Rose had asked their aunt why she had not stayed with Gendry. They could have been Lord and Lady of some far off castle, Ned had added. They could have been together. Rose remembered that night, curled up under one of their farher's thick fur cloaks, watching the snow drift almost lazily from the sky. Arya had smiled fondly, running her finger's through Ned's dark curls.

"We could have, little ones," she'd replied, "we could have been married, and I could have given you cousins. But that's not me."

She'd tucked a white curl behind Rose's ear then, and it seemed to glow brighter than the snow that blanketed the ground.

"After all that's happened, I know now that I'm doing exactly what I'm meant to do. One day, when the time comes, you both, too, will know your purpose in this world."

Rose remembered their aunt's words well, so much so that she contemplated them each night before sleep claimed her. What was she meant to bring to this world, that seemed as if it already had everything? Only the Gods knew, she thought.

Their morning passed uneventfully after that. The children had gone to their training; first with their swords, and then their bows. It was Jon and Enrin who taught them both, their bodies still sinewy with muscle. They had little enemies left in this world, but they knew better than to let their guard down. A kingdom with strong leaders faired much better than a kingdom with a drunk, fat king.

Each time the wind whistled past their ears, they found themselves straightening, eyes casting around them. The yard was loud with the clamor of weapons and the raucous voices of the working people. Rose felt some pride as she watched them. They were safe and happy, well fed, and there were more children now than she'd ever seen before. The North had become great again, after all the years of turmoil. She felt eyes on her again in that moment, and turned to see her aunt Sansa watching them from over the parapets, her red hair glowing like fire in the dying light of the late afternoon.  
Sansa had begun training with a sword, long ago. Jon had insisted upon it after the Great War, and it had lasted about a day and a half before Sansa had put her foot down.  
"Why would I need to learn how to use a sword?" she'd shouted at her brother, in the middle of the Great Hall no less. "I have you and Enrin to protect me and the castle."  
After that, Sansa busied herself with the finances and running the house; all the things Enrin hated to do, but Sansa loved.

It was then that she chose to make her appearance, materlalizing from the shadows beside the keep like a sprite.  
It was Jon that felt her presence first, and he turned with a knowing grin. "Arya."  
Her short brown hair was pulled way from her face, curling on her shoulders. She was dressed in her one shouldered cape, her Needle protruding from beneath it. Sansa's hurried footsteps were the only sound across the yard; it had gone silent, her presence louder than them all.  
She flung herself at Jon and he lifted her from the ground, spinning toward the rest of them as he released her. Sansa and Enrin embraced her next, togehter, each of them clasping hands. No matter how long she had been away, it always felt like just yesterday since they had seen eachother.  
Ned came bounding over, abandoning his practice sword in the dirt. "Aunt Arya!" he shouted, lifting her from the ground just as his father had. Rose leaped on them as well, locking her arms around Ned's neck and holding on tight. They tubmled into the dust, their laughter echoing off the stone walls. The rest of the yard had begun again, and each eye watched them fondly.  
"Gods, it's only been three years," Arya said, brushing the hair from Ned's eyes. She rested her hand on Rose's cheek, her thumb skimming the blush there, "you're both grown now. Are we really that old?"  
She looked to her siblings, and Enrin cocked an eyebrow.  
"Old? You?" she scoffed, "You're the third youngest here if my math is correct. And you look it, too."  
She took Arya's hand, hauling her up from the ground. "That would be thanks to the sun, sister," Arya retorted, "you should see it sometime."  
"Careful," Jon piped up, winding his arm around his wife's waist, "she's not so old she couldn't knock you into the dirt."  
Good humor danced behind Arya's eyes. "I'd like to see any of you try."

They supped in the Great Hall that evening, a feast roaring around them to celebrate Arya's breif return. They drank and laughed, memories flowing freely from their lips. Rose sat between her aunt Sansa and her mother, quietly taking in the scene. She could feel the wind whispering through her hair as the wolves in the forest raced through the night, the cool kiss of the moonlight on the top of her head. She had one ear with her family, and another ear with the pack. She could see it on her brother's face as well, the stars shining behind his eyes. He grinned at her, another one of their private jokes. Her throat constricted as she remembered what the morning brought. This was no ordinary visit.

"You know," Arya spoke up from down the table, her keen eyes watching Rose's every move, "I'm only staying in the capital for a day or so before I'm on my way back to Essos to tie up some loose ends. The trip won't take much time, and I promised Gendry I wouldn't take so long between visits..."  
She trailed off, and Rose was well aware of the way her father's shoulders had tensed.  
"You could come with me, Rose. Get out and see a bit of the world before you're trapped up here for the rest of your life. I could use the company."  
A thrill ran down Rose's spine as she opened her mouth to reply, but her father spoke first.  
"No. Rose will stay here."

The ember of excitement that had lit in Rose's chest slowly died, and she met her aunt's eyes with a wan smile. Arya scoffed, but said nothing. It was Ned that spoke up in his sister's defense.  
"Come, father," he said, "I shouldn't be the only one who gets to get out and have a bit of fun. Let Rose come along, at least to the capital."  
Enrin all but dropped her cup on the table, the sound thundering, silencing all of them.  
"Last I checked, Rose was a woman grown, and can make her own choices." Her eyes were like ice, glaring at her husband.  
They each looked at her in turn, and the weight of their gazes threatened to swallow her whole. In all her years, she'd never spoken against her parent's word; especially not in a place so public as this.  
Something awakend in her, a small thing, yawning and blinking in the light.

"I would like to see the capital," was all she said, quirking her brow in the way her mother always did. She raised her wine to her lips, taking a long drag. Jon nodded, his mouth set in a grim line. Something haunting crossed his face.  
"So be it," he said, as the voices began to ring around him again. They had all gone silent as the princess faced off with the rest of the table.

"Excellent," Arya said, downing the rest of her ale in one mouthful.  
Rose picked up her fork again, her hands shaking. For the first time in weeks, she thought, perhaps her brother's trek wasn't such a bad idea after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Enjoy, friends :)**  
**Also, anyone watching The Last Watch tonight?!**

* * *

Jon ran his fingertips down his wife's spine as she lay across his chest. Her eyes were closed, but she listened to his heartbeat thrumming in his chest.  
Enrin raised her head, a soft smile touching her lips.

"You worry too much."

Jon sighed beneath her, pushing himself up against the headboard of their bed. He pulled the fur blanket up over her shoulders, tucking it under her side.

"You always say that," he retorted, "but that doesn't make it stop."  
Enrin sat up properly, pressing her lips to his.

"She'll be fine. She will be with Ned and Arya. Who better to protect her in the south?"

_Us_, Jon thought as he ran a hand through his hair, chewing on the inside of his cheek. The feast had ended hours ago, and they had both tried to sleep. The night was quiet and still around them, and yet their slumber did not come. The fire crackled into empty air, heavy with things unsaid.

"You know there are rumors that she is not mine," Jon said, and his wife snorted.

"What, because of the color of her hair? You and I know the truth behind that, as does everyone that matters in this world. What do you care for rumors whispered by kitchen maids as they work?"

Enrin sat up straight, pulling her dressing gown around her.

"The children do not know," Jon replied, and he felt the guilt in his heart again. They had talked about telling them for years, but to what end? It would change nothing. What would it do for them to know that their claim to the Iron Throne was stronger than even Dany's?

"If it all goes to Dany's plan, it will not matter in the end," Enrin wandered to the table, pouring herself a cup of wine, "Ned and Rhaella will be wed and he will be the King of the Six Kingdoms anyway. Rose will rule here, and that is that. Jon, what is it? Tell me. You cannot possibly be this disturbed about paltry castle gossip."

Jon shifted, reaching for her cup. He drained the wine inside, and she poured more from the goblet on their bedside table.  
Jon was silent for a long while, his brow furrowed. After what felt like ages, he spoke again.

"The world is an ugly place," he said, "I don't want the children so far from us. I worry about the responsibility their lineage puts on them, and nothing more."  
Enrin raised her brow, as she always did. She could smell a mistruth from a mile away.

"And?" She prompted.

Jon sighed. "And I worry that this is not a life they would choose for themselves."

Enrin pulled him close to her, cradling his head against her chest. It pained her to see his turmoil. The way Jon loved their children was unlike anything she'd ever expected; she could not have chosen a better man to father them.

"Princes and princesses don't get to be children for long," she said, an echo of a time long passed, "you told me that, remember?"

She felt him nod against her chest, and he wrapped his arms tighter around her middle.

"What would it do for them to know your true name? Their true name?" She continued. "I don't believe it would make their choice easier. They grew up knowing well their responsibilities and they accepted them readily. Our realms are at peace, and no matter what Ned chooses, they will always be safe. Thousands of men would die for them."

She took her husband's face in her hands, blue eyes meeting black. Enrin kissed him slowly.

"I know what you fear. You fear her white hair shining like a target on her back. I fear that, too. But what would we do? Lock her away in a tower, so no one could ever get to her? It's easier to hide with Ned, I know. No one can tell the future, not even Bran."

The name sent a lance of pain through Jon's heart. He spoke of Bran so little, that the children at the keep thought him naught but a story.

When the Great War had ended, Bran had took with him a small guard and rode to the God's Eye. The guard had returned, but Bran had not.

They said that they had rowed across the lake, to the Isle of Faces. The mist was so thick that they could hardly breathe, but Bran had rolled himself into it, disappearing. Hours had gone by, almost a day, when one soldier was brave enough to enter the mist. He returned with Bran's chair, alone.

"I'm sorry," Enrin said, realizing what she had said, "I didn't think."

Jon waved her off, running his hands over his face again.  
"You're right," he said finally, "it's only right for them to see a bit of the world. Perhaps a year in Essos would be good for her. It might break her out of that shell of hers."  
Enrin smiled then, placing her hands on either side of his face and kissing him slowly.

* * *

Rose tossed again, kicking one of her legs out from under the thick fur covers. The fire at her small hearth had long burned away, the embers smoking in the night. She watched as the flames of her candles flickered, sending shadows across the walls. Rose longed for sleep, and yet it eluded her.

She rolled onto her back again, her thoughts tumbling around in her head like loose marbles. She concentrated hard, screwing her eyes shut. A smoky veil lifted from her thoughts, and she reached out across the halls of the keep.  
She felt him on the bare edges of her mind, his thoughts a calm sea.

"_Ned?"_

He roused, his mind awakening, like tiny lights flitting behind her eyes.

"_Rose? Is everything alright? You're agitated."_

Her eyes were open now, milky white, staring unseeingly at the canopy of her bed.

"_I can feel his sadness. I've broken his heart."_

"_Who? Father? Come, Rose. This is the first thing you've wanted since that pony when you were eight. You should not feel guilty."_

And yet it was there; the guilt, licking at the walls of his stomach. Ned lay in his own bed, across the keep, his purple eyes glowing white in the blackness of his room. He felt his sister's uncertainty like ice in his veins, poisoning her budding excitement.

"_Just think of it; we'll have one last grand adventure before we're stuck in stuffy castles for the rest of our days."_

"_I feel something strange, Ned. Something dark. I cannot place it."_

It was that, she realized, that filled her with dread. Something deep and heavy, raging across the sea.

This gave Ned pause. Long ago he had grown used to his sister's strange musings; how her scalp would prickle when a storm was coming, how she'd yank him out of the way before an errant mule would aim a kick in his direction. His little sister was quiet often, he wondered; but she saw more than any of them.

"_Don't fret about it, Rose. I'm sure you're just worried about father and mother."_

Ned paused then, something sharp coloring his thoughts.  
_"Look alive, father comes."_

The veil slammed back over her thoughts again, jarring her back to reality. A soft knock sounded on her door, and she lurched up in bed, a sick feeling in her gut. Rose pulled her dressing gown over her bedclothes before she bid the visitor enter.  
Her brother had spoken truthfully; it was Jon who entered, in a simple gray shirt and trousers. He looked so much smaller then, she realized, without his armor and hulking fur cloak.

"What are you doing up?" Jon asked, perching on the end of his daughter's bed.  
Rose gave him a sly smile. "I could ask the same of you."  
Jon chuckled. "You remind me of your mother more and more every day, do you know that?"

That made Rose's grin grow wider. She'd always considered it a compliment to be compared to their mother; she was beautiful, of course, but more than that she was strong, smart, and capable of ruling the North when all the odds had been stacked against her. She'd given her life for the man she loved, for their people, with nary a second thought. If Rose was to be compared to anyone, she was glad it was most often her mother.

"Something is bothering you, father," Rose said, her words quiet. Jon gave her a sad smile, reaching over to clasp her hand.  
"You always know, don't you?"  
Rose only nodded. It was written plain on his face this time, in the worried wrinkles on his forehead and the pinched, panicked look of his eyes.  
"I'm just worried for you and your brother, that's all. It's hard for a father when both of his children leave him."  
"Even a king?" Rose asked, although she knew the answer.  
"Even a king," Jon replied, and Rose squeezed her father's hand in both of hers.

"You trained me with a sword yourself," Rose said, her voice placating, "if there is any danger, do you doubt I can defend myself?"  
Jon shook his head. "I know you can," he said, and then paused. It crossed his mind in that moment, just to tell her. To let go of the secret that he'd held for the last twenty five years. _You're not a Snow, _he wanted to shout, _you're a Targaryen, and it shows like a blazing target on your head. In your brother's eyes. Don't go where I can't protect you from your own blood._

"That's not all, is it?" Rose questioned, scooting closer to him. She leaned into her father and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders. It was almost like she was a girl again, awoken from a bad dream, seeking comfort in her father's arms. This time, however, it was because Jon needed the comfort.  
"You can tell me, father," she pressed, leaning her head against his shoulder, "whatever it is, we can face it together. You and me, mother and Ned, too."  
Jon looked down at his daughter's hand in his; her's were soft and pale, while his were beginning to gnarl with age, covered in scars and calluses from his years of fighting. For the firs time, Jon felt his years.  
"I just want you both to be safe," her father said, pressing his lips to the white hair on her head. It felt like a lifetime ago that Rose had just seen her sixth name day, and she had asked Jon why she looked different than the rest of them. They all were of dark hair, and her's was not. She'd cried, he remembered, because the kitchen girls had called her names. They'd told her that she was left here by a fairy, Rose had wept, that her father wasn't her father. Jon's heart had ached for her, as his daughter cried in his arms. Ned had threatened to have them all thrown from the castle, but Enrin had quieted him. She'd taken Rose's little face in her hands, wiping the tears away with her thumbs.  
"Sweet girl," she'd said, "I am your mother, I carried you. That is your father, he made you. You are wolfborn, and wolves do not concern themselves with the opinions of squirrels and chipmunks. You could snap your jaws at them and they would flee from you. You are not a fairy-child. What are you?"  
Rose had sniffled, wiping her nose on her sleeve. "A wolf."  
"And what do wolves do?"  
Rose had grinned at that moment, her teary eyes finding her father's.  
"We carry on."

Jon sighed, breaking free from his memories. The girl in his arms now was not the little girl from so long ago, hurt and unsure. The pup had grown into a powerful she-wolf, and it both pained and elated him to see it. He missed the days of their childhood, when they found wonder in all things of the world. He and Enrin had tried time and time again for another child over the years, but the Gods saw fit to give them only two.

"I'll be home soon," Rose said, as she felt her father's melancholy lapping at him, "I won't be gone too long. A month or two, and then I'll return."  
Beside himself, Jon grinned. He and Enrin had fought among themselves for an hour or more at who would get to be the one to tell her of her true journey. He'd talked Enrin to sleep, on purpose, and slid from the bed to tell her himself.  
"I think it will be quite longer than that," her father said, gazing down at her, "unless you've decided you no longer wish to accompany your aunt to Essos?"

Rose jumped up as if a bolt of lightning had struck her._ Essos!_  
"Truly, father? I can go?"  
Jon found himself echoing her joy, if only slightly muted. It was his favorite thing, to make his children happy.  
"I do not know, can you? As your mother said, you're a woman grown. Do you want to go?"  
She did. More than anything, she wanted to see something new. Anything new. Elation coursed through her veins, the darkness that had consumed her pushed to the wayside.  
"Thank you, father!" She cried and flung herself at him, wrapping her arms tight around his neck as she always did when she was small. Jon cradled her, his girl, trying to savor each moment. The fear still ached, cold and unrelenting in his heart.  
"You'd better get some rest," Jon said, as he stood up to leave, "else wise you'll be the one falling from your horse on the Kingsroad. I don't think even your mother would be able to talk you out of that embarrassment."

* * *

The morning came too quickly, and Rose had slept fitfully. In her dreams, wolves and dragons and ravens had fought together on a sea of blood, men without faces appearing in the darkness around them. She'd woken with a start, the soft sounds of the yard echoing through her window.

She dressed quickly in simple clothes; black leather leggings and black boots, and a simple woolen black shirt. Across her shoulders she clasped her cloak; shrouded with silver and black fox fur. Silver and black were the colors of their house, that their father had chosen long ago. On the edges of her cloak, she'd embroidered the white direwolf on a black field, a glowing red moon with a black sword piercing it hanging above it. She was a wolf, she thought, and it would do well for her to remember it.

As she opened her bedroom door, Ned met her, poised to knock. After their talk he'd pressed himself to fall back into sleep, but his mind was awake, shapes dancing across his eyes.  
"What did you dream last night, sister?" he asked, striding in and taking a hold of Rose's traveling trunk. He lifted it easily, dragging it behind him with one handle. His voice a fervent, a hushed whisper. It was Ned's idea to keep their abilities a secret; everyone knew they could see through the eyes of their wolves, but if the kingdom knew of just how fair their minds could stretch, it would frighten them. He feared they would call them sorcerers, and accuse them of dark magic. Rose had disagreed; these were their people, they loved them, but it was not the people of the North that Ned feared.

"I think you already know," Rose said, her brows furrowed,"because you saw it as well. What does it mean?"  
Ned shrugged, holding the door ajar and allowing her to pass through first. They started down the halls together, whispering in hushed voices.  
"Wolves and dragons, and ravens?" Ned mused out loud, looking down at his sister as she strode beside him, "you're much better at reading these things than I am. What house has a raven as its sigil?"

Rose thought hard. "None that I know of," she replied sullenly.  
"Perhaps it is nothing then. Just a dream." Ned's eyes glowed lilac as the watery sunlight filtered in from the doorway ahead of them.  
Rose scoffed. "These are more than dreams, Ned. These are...different. They always have been."  
Ned hushed her as a host of guards strode past them, each inclining their heads. The entered the yard together, the menagerie of sound around them drowning out their voices.

"It's you that's agitated this morning. What troubles you, brother?"  
In truth, Ned could not place it. Something pulled at him in his gut, but he did not think it was a bad feeling. It was a bittersweet feeling, and he could taste the ale and honey of it on the back of his tongue.  
"Nothing of importance," Ned replied, distracted, busying himself with lifting Rose's trunk onto the wagon.

Arya came to them then, pulling her thick riding gloves over her fingers.  
"Hurry up, then," she commanded, a mischievous grin at the corners of her lips, "we've got a long ride ahead of us, even with the fastest horses."  
Ned felt a soft, hot breath on the back of his neck. Banshee had appeared behind him, her thick gray coat covered in snow. Ned grinned, pushing the darkness away. Silver stalked up behind her, and each time Ned saw him he could swear the wolf had grown. The tips of his ears reached the top of Rose's head by now, as she reached over to wrap and arm around the wolf's neck out of habit, finding comfort in the closeness.  
"Ready for your trip south, girl?" Ned asked, and he was sure Banshee would have nodded if she could. Instead she gazed at him with soft golden eyes, sensing his despondency. She pressed her cold, wet nose to Ned's cheek, huffing softly.

Their parents entered the yard next, arm in arm, their great fur cloaks billowing behind them. They wore their finery today, Ned acknowledged, the clothes they saved for official King and Queen business. They wore matching crowns; thin molded silver made from the blades of the men that fell defending the world from the dead. They each held one shimmering black gem of dragonglass across the brow. Jon and Enrin had promised that they would never forget their people's sacrifice.

It was Ned they saw first, standing tall with his wolf, dressed in black and silver. Enrin felt her heart constrict, throbbing painfully under her scar.  
"My sweet boy," she whispered, pulling Ned close to her, wishing she could pull him back into her womb where she knew he was safe.  
Ned screwed shut his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. He swallowed thickly, bidding it leave him, but instead he pressed his face into his mother's neck, allowing himself a reprieve from his fear.

"We are but a letter away, should you need us," Enrin said, quickly dashing away her tears with the hem of her sleeve. She placed her hand on her son's cheek and Ned leaned into it. He could not help but feel like a boy again, so reluctant to leave his mother. Enrin stepped away then, not wishing to embarrass him in front of the other men.  
Ned was not ready, and pulled her back into his arms again. He yanked his father in as well, roughly, clinging to the both of them for the briefest of moments.  
"I love you mother, father," Ned whispered dejectedly, squeezing his eyes shut again. His mother smelled of roses, his father of leather and steel. He did his best to commit this to memory, even as a man grown; his parents arms around him, the scents that had long comforted him since his boyhood. He stepped away then, too soon, turning back to the cart to strap Rose's trunk to the side of the carriage. Ned quickly wiped his eyes with the back of his hand.

Rose felt her parents approach, and did her best to steel herself against the emotions at war inside her. Enrin wrapped her arm around her daughter's shoulders, pressing a kiss to her hair.  
"What are you?" She whispered, as Rose turned to look at her.  
"A wolf," Rose said, her voice thick with unshed tears.  
"And what do wolves do?"  
Jon smiled as he took his daughter's hand in his, squeezing her fingers gently.  
"We carry on," Rose replied, as she pulled her parents close to her and hugged them roughly.  
Jon had no words for either of his children; nothing he could say could truly convey the depth of his feeling for them. From the moment they entered this world, he loved them so fiercely that sometimes it frightened him. This had not been something he had seen in his future; he saw the Wall, and eventually eternal darkness. Enrin and his children had brought him love, and light and laughter. What could he say that would be enough?

"I love you both," he said gruffly, as Ned had strode to meet them, his eyes rimmed with red, "I want you to know that. No matter what."  
They stood together for what felt like mere moments, before the guard had called the ready to raise the banners. Arya joined them and hugged her siblings tightly, promising that she'd keep their children safe.

"I love them as well as you do," Arya told them, and Jon ran his thumb affectionately over Arya's cheek.  
"Return them in once piece," he requested, and his words sent a stab of pain through Ned's heart.  
They mounted their horses then, Silver and Banshee milling about the head of the procession. They were anxious, hasty to be off, the scent of new winds heavy in their noses. Rose wheeled her chestnut mare, trotting off to join her aunt, Ned hot on her heels. She felt that she could no longer bear to look at her parents; tears already stung her eyes, giving her away.  
They left the gates, Ned's black stallion huffing the cold morning air. He fell in line with his sister and aunt, the bannermen around them milling about, hands on their weapons. They took twenty men with them, ten for each child. Ned found himself unable to think past arriving at the capital; his sister would stay for a night, and then she would leave him, too.

Though Ned thought against it, he could not help but glance back at Winterfell as they crested the hill into the forest along the Kingsroad. His mother and father stood at the gates, his father holding his mother as she leaned against his chest. For all his melancholy, Ned felt better for it that they still had each other.

The sun had finished rising beyond the stone walls of his home, the rays making the snow shine in the early morning. Ned turned his horse forward; to his future, his destiny, and in that moment he was sure that he would never see his home again.


End file.
